


Sanctuary

by BloodyFreckles



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Abuse, Light Sex Scene, Mental Illness, Paranoid Delusions, Romance, hetrosexual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:50:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyFreckles/pseuds/BloodyFreckles
Summary: Elliot decides to stay away from computers for awhile. He starts reading books at a cafe six blocks from his apartment. This is where he meets a young woman who talks to him even though he won't talk back, but eventually he caves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely AU after season 1. Tyrell is still missing, but Elliot never went to prison. Instead he stayed away from his computer for awhile and this thing happened. 
> 
> I really reaaaallly hope she isn't a Mary Sue. I tried not to make her one. 
> 
> Next on my list after this, is a hopeful Josh Washington x Reader fic, an AU sequel to Until Dawn. *crosses fingers.* Let's hope I actually do it. I've already started. I'm just having trouble making it reader friendly, where it can fit just about anyone who reads but I admit the reader is definitely female. 
> 
> Anyway! Enjoy!

She's anxious. More than usual. Her therapist has given her an assignment, go out in public, mingle, find someone to talk to and keep talking. She wants to get better, to try but she's scared in all honesty, terrified. She really doesn't want to do this because she's a paranoid fuck who can't get over herself. Apparently it might be delusions of grandeur but personally she thinks people are assholes and she has every right to be paranoid. She's been fucked with enough in her life to know it, be it bullies as children or adults or the people who have hurt her for their own personal gain. Some twisted and sick and others... well... 

Someone sits next to her on the subway, on the other side of her. Now squished in by two, warm, thriving bodies, she squeezes her eyes tight and counts to ten forward, then backward, in English, in Spanish, in French. She's not Spanish or French, she's a mutt of Caucasian and Black. Light caramel skin and a shitton of freckles she can't escape from and doesn't like. She'd use make up to cover them up, but she's always felt like it's false advertising. Not like she wants a boyfriend or anything to lie to though, because she's scared of that too. 

The subway stops and she opens her eyes, shoving her hands deep in the pockets of her olive long sweater jacket. Stepping out onto the platform, she can already feel the fall chill of New York City. She thinks about having her mom drive them out to the country to pick apples and get pumpkins for Halloween. Halloween being her favorite holiday. It's one thing she looks forward to every year, one of the things that makes her happy besides being a shut in online. 

She walks up the stairs, she knows where she wants to go. There's a cafe, that her mom and her used to visit when she was little. She knows the servers and owners are still the same because they went there a few months ago to get coffee and turkey sandwiches for lunch. She walks through the crowded streets, hands on her wallet, paranoid someone might get in her pockets and steal it but then again, isn't everyone paranoid about stuff like that in New York City? Of _all_ places. 

She closes her eyes briefly, heart rate pacing rapidly at being surrounded by so many people. Right now she wants to be home at the computer desk, talking to online friends and writing something, anything, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. She has been trying to talk her mom into moving somewhere smaller, where she might not mind walking around but her mom won't budge. She supposes she understands, why should mom have to change her lifestyle for her? She's a rather important business woman after all and making a commute too far away to her office would be a bunch of hokey. 

She finds the cafe easily enough, it's sandwiched between a bookstore and a sex toy shop. (that once used to be an antique store) It's by no means small though, there will be people here but not a ton. She opens the door and walks inside. The cafe is different from most cafes. It's a backed bench from one wall, all around until it gets to the counter, reaches the end of the counter and then goes down again until it reaches the door. The benches are mahogany Formica, with bright white square tables that are scuffed around the edges but still withstanding, and a mahogany wooden chairs on the opposite sides. 

The whole decor is comforting with pictures of obscure art on the walls, some more abstract over the years but not without shape of people or things. Think Van Gogh on a little more crack than usual. She's not sure if it's all the same artist, or various but the styles are somewhat the same from each perspective. It smells like cookies and coffee, there's at least eight other people inside. Baby steps. Yes, baby steps. She needs to take things slowly and work her way up. 

She realizes she's been standing at the entrance, debating on all these things in her head when the bell rings behind her and someone bumps into her. “Move, bitch.”

She frowns and squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to say fuck you, but she doesn't have the guts. She never does. Instead she walks to the counter awkwardly, standing behind the guy who called her a bitch. A thought enters her head, she wonders if she had a switch blade right now... would she have the guts to slice his throat, clean from one end to the other or would she made jagged edges in the ridged skin to make his pain last longer ...Yeah... her therapist said she needs to work on her homicidal thoughts too. She often got them from her passive aggressive anger. But no worrying, world. She was suicidal too, when the meds started wearing off, so maybe she'd kill herself before harming someone who couldn't help being an asshole. 

The guy gets his coffee, as she gets to the counter and stares up at the menu, quietly. 

“Long time no see, Sabby,” Mr. Morrison said with a kind smile. He was in his fifties. now, with salt and pepper black hair and a salt and pepper beard. She thought he was lucky that his hair wasn't thinning and falling out. He was portly in a grandfather way as well.

She smiled, a little strained, nervous. “Hi Mr. Morrison. Good to see you.” 

“You too, kid,” he said. “What can I do you for?”

“I'll have an extra large Vanilla Cappuccino, a turkey club sub, light on the mayo, extra tomatoes and a two chocolate chip cookies,” She told him. She ate healthy usually, but she needed some comfort with cookies in order to maintain sanity. The extra large vanilla cap wasn't helping either, all that sugar would bite her in the ass later. 

Mr. Morrison nodded, giving a small smile and ten minutes later she had all her items on a tray. She stood there, looking around. Okay, sit next to someone and start a conversation. That's all she had to do. It would be easy... only it really wasn't. She trembled, closing her eyes as she counted again. Then she opened, looking around and landed her eyes on a hooded figure not far from where she stood. His head was down, a coffee cup was in front of him and a book was laid out too. Would it be rude to interrupt?

Probably, but everyone else was busy doing something too. Being on laptops, doing what looked like homework and so forth. Maybe, she should have brought a book and waited for someone to pop up who just wanted to socialize. 

No, she could do this. No talking herself out of it. She walked slowly between the two tables and took a seat that wasn't too close to the hooded figure. Setting her tray down, she took a sip of her cappuccino and glanced over at their hand. Definitely male by the shape and form, pretty hands too, the color of her cappuccino. Fuck, it was a guy... she was even worse talking to them as she was talking to women. Okay, she could do this. If she repeated that enough, she definitely could.

“Hey,” She said, it came out without meaning to.

The guy doesn't even look her way, doesn't even respond. 

She doesn't say anything for a long time, just sipping and picking at her sandwich. Then she goes again. “I'm Sabrina Ringer,” she starts again and still gets no response. She almost sighs. Great, her venture into talking to someone and they're ignoring her. Way to boost her self-confidence person of society.  
A few beats pass and she tries again. “I'm trying to talk to you because I have severe social anxiety and paranoid delusions. My therapist has given me an assignment to break out of my bubble for the next two months. Right now I'm thinking you hate me based upon visual, which I wouldn't blame you, because yeah, I give off this pathetically weak vibe. Ya know? Or well, I'm not the prettiest thing around, not by a long shot. “

She gets a pause when he turns a page, then the page turns. Is he listening? 

“I'm pretty fucked in the head. Besides paranoia, and social anxiety, there's depression, which I don't think I actually have because when I'm by myself I'm always laughing and making myself laugh. I do it with my mom too, but they say the most depressed people laugh the loudest,” She continues. “I also hear voices, which get really bad when my shot starts wearing off. They're seriously negative and say the most horrendous things to make me even more paranoid. Sometimes I can't sleep, which might be the bipolar but then sometimes I sleep too much.” 

He lifts his head and still doesn't say anything, but now she's sure he's listening. 

She takes a bite of her sandwich, feeling a little more confident. Chewing and swallowing she continues. “I live at home with my mom, I'm grateful for the fact that she puts up with me. I'm too crazy to have a job, because in part I'm afraid I'll shoot up my workplace or have constant panic attacks. I stay online a lot, which the only friends I have are online but I do have friends kinda, they're my mom's friends. It's just not the same. I write a lot too. Keep a journal full of my blundering thoughts.”

He doesn't move this time. 

“I'm a total hermit, ya know? If I could stay in the house the rest of my life. I really would.” She pauses. “I'd smoke pot but it aggravates my voices. Look at me, saying my voices like they're friends. Fuckers aren't friends at all, they're demons.... and I sound bitter. Can't even deny that I am.” 

A page turns. 

“Sorry, if I'm interrupting your reading time,” she said. “I'd ask what you're reading but you probably won't answer.”

“Poems and Stories by Poe,” He finally said, in a slightly croaky, and low, almost monotone, pleasing voice.

“Oh,” She said, dumbfounded. She hadn't expected him to answer. She likes Poe, used to love him as a teenager but she does know how to say that and the silence stretches. 

“Feel like reading me one? I can listen just as much as I can talk,” She asked, trying for a small smile that didn't quite feel right but he doesn't say anything anyway. “I sometimes write poems, but they're terrible. Really terrible, I'd recite one but it'd probably make your ears bleed.”

He still says nothing but now she knows he's listening, so you don't mind talking. For the next hour she talks about the weather, how Ecorp is in a crisis, how her mom runs a furniture store chain and how the shop next door used to be an antique store before it became a sex shop. He says nothing, not even a bye when he finally leaves her. 

She sits there for a long time, finishing off her cold cappuccino, sandwich and cookies. She doesn't think she'll see him next time, but it was nice talking to him, even if he hardly said a word. 

Xxxxx

She's back again. The woman from the other day. She orders the same exact thing, like he heard her order last time because he pays attention more than he talks. Mr. Robot sits beside him, he hasn't said a word in over an hour, maybe it's because he knows Elliot needs some time to read Treasure Island instead of listening to his mad dribble. He leafs through the pages, not all that interested in the story but the manual labor of getting his brain to work outside of the insane turmoil it's been in these past few months. 

He'd take his medicine, but it's just a bullshit excuse to change his personality and who he is altogether. He won't be a sheeple, even if Mr. Robot manages to drive him off the deep end. She sits beside him, sipping at her cup before her meal once again. She may not have noticed it but he watched her the whole time, last time. She's pretty, but she's close to plain Jane. It's a mixture. He likes her freckles, wants to connect the dots. If he wanted to reach out and touch, he doesn't know if he even would. It's not like he feels any deep connection toward her or anything. She's just some woman who has some of the same issues as him, who talked to him last time, despite the fact that he wouldn't talk back, because, he wanted to be left alone. 

He still wants to be left alone, but that doesn't stop her from talking. 

“Hey again,” she begins. “After I left here the other day, I didn't feel like a complete failure. Thanks for listening.”

He wants to say you're welcome but instead he says nothing, keeping his eyes focused on the book. 

“I went home and read some Edgar Allen Poe. I forgot how good he is. I think my favorite one is the Tell Tale Heart. That stuff really speaks to me, you know, crazy ass paranoia and all, because that's what it feels like sometime,” she continues. “I wasn't always like this.. I mean, I had issues as a kid but not this bad. It just progressively got worse as I got older and now I'm in this raging ocean I can't swim out of.”

He agrees, paranoia does feel that way sometimes and he knows what she means. His issues didn't come bite him until four years ago, when it started coming to head. 

“But everyone likes the Tell Tale Heart. I personally adore Eleanora. _'Men have called me mad, but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence, whether much that is glorious, whether all that is profound, does not spring from disease of thought, from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect,'_ ” She quotes. “I'm not sure entirely what he's saying but I feel like it's love is the ultimate madness. A baser instinct off intellect anyone can achieve. You don't need a super intelligence to fall in love and you might just be an idiot for doing so. But in the end for him, it was a good love, a gracious one and he was happy. So, why not be an idiot for the sake of it. Right? It could have driven him mad, but he didn't allow it, instead he went with the currents.”

He blinks once, eyebrow furrowed. He guesses that makes a lot of sense, given what the poems about. He had the same line of thought when he read it recently. His own personal thought was that Poe had been blowing smoke out his ass and just needed somewhere to start in the poetry world in order to get to the love story. He also thought it was Poe's way of saying his memory of his love left him mad, because he wasn't sure if it happened or not. Only memories to cling to. He'd convey that to her, but he still wants to be left alone. 

“I wrote about you in my journal,” She said, eating at a cookie like a mouse. Nibbling, which he finds strange and a little annoying. Why would she write about him in her general? “I just said I met a nice man, who let me talk and he didn't complain, not once, even told me what book he was reading. My online friends asked if you were cute and I said I had no clue, but it wasn't like that anyway. It's not like I'm trying to gain a boyfriend or anything. Just stepping outside my comfort zone and for some reason, a person with a hood seemed like the logical step in starting to talk. Even though you could probably kill me or something after I leave here.” 

He just keeps reading. He finds her strange, but no stranger than he is. One time, Krista gave him the same assignment but he ignored it and told her he did it anyway. It was too hard to even try because he did at first, but his feet felt like cement every step of the way, like he was heading to his doom. 

“I also rewrite everything into a psychical journal, just incase the online website goes down. If I have really private thoughts or situations I need to write about, I place it inside there too and don't put it online. No need really.”

Krista keeps telling me I should keep a journal, but it's pointless. I don't want anyone finding it, finding out how crazy I am. 

“This lady has got a few screws loose,” Mr. Robot said, lighting up a cigarette.

“No crazier than I am,” he answered.

“You can't smoke that in here,” Mr. Morrison said.

“Put it out,” he whispers from the side of his mouth. 

“I'm in a mood, Elliot. I need a cigarette,' Mr. Robot said, inhaling and exhaling a puff of smoke in his face.

“Please put it out,” Elliot stressed as much as he could. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” Mr. Robot said, putting it out in his hand. “Hurts so good.”

“Are you okay?,” Sabrina asked, frowning.

“I gotta go,” He finds himself saying as he looks down at the burn mark in the middle of his left hand, throbbing a painful angry red. 

“Okay. I hope I see you soon,” She said, like they were friends already. There was concern on her face, from what he could see from underneath his hood. It didn't look like pity though, he never liked that.

He gathered his book, his coffee cup and left out the door. Feeling eyes on him the whole time. 

Xxxxxx

She's been here five times this week, but she's only seen the hooded man twice. Her mom and therapist are proud of her for actually trying. She's proud of herself too. She talked to a nice old lady yesterday about the coffee and how good it was. She was pleasant. Has nine grandchildren, she's in her late sixties, and she plans on coming back in tomorrow if she wants to talk to her again. Sabrina was instantly comfortable with her, but the hooded man, she's taking some time with. 

She sips at her piping out cappuccino as the doorbell jingles, she turns to see the hooded man coming inside. She watches as he goes to the counter, gets his things and when he turns around, she looks away. Trying not to look pathetic. She can see without looking that he gives pause before coming her way and taking his usual seat beside her. She almost smiles, but it could mean anything, so she's not getting her hopes up. “Is your hand better?”

She watches as he opens a new book, Heart Shaped Box. His coffee cup disappears underneath the hood, and she stays silent for a long time before speaking. “I've read that one. It's really good. I don't want to spoil it for you but it's got some really freaky parts. And I loved Georgia.”

 

He doesn't say anything as he turns to the page he left on, obviously by the little blue bookmark she sees. 

“As a teenager I was goth, so goth it hurt, okay?,” she says in a typical white girl voice. Sure, she has a white girl voice herself but there's the typical, whitebread one. “My mom used to think I hated being half black, so one time I had straightened my hair which had been dyed black at the time, went into the mental health facility intake department and the intake person put me down as Caucasian instead of other without asking me and my mom freaked out all 'She's black!' and I'm sitting there like. Mom, calm the fuck down. It doesn't matter what the hell I am. Stop making a big deal out of it. Guess I easily passed as a dark skinned white girl with freckles.” 

She pauses, taking a long sip of her cappuccino. “I've always felt like my mom loves my brother more because he embraced his black side, while I didn't care about fitting into a social and racial norm. I just wanted to be myself, no label needed. My mom has always been fascinated by things like black people, Africa and the like. It's not a strange thing to be into those things, but I think she's strange for favoring my brother because of that.” 

He gives pause, almost like he wants to turn his head and tell her something. Probably that she's a dumbass for thinking such a thing, afterall, her mom puts up with her, hugs her everyday and tells her she loves her at least twice a day. But honestly? Sabrina thinks that's her way of making up for how she favored her brother growing up. “It's okay though. My mom shows me a lot of love these days, probably to make up for my childhood.” 

He continues saying nothing. She just gives a small smile. “You really should let me see your face underneath there. I bet your handsome.” She pauses. “I'm not hitting on you or anything, promise. Just saying.” 

She takes a bite of her sandwich, chewing and swallowing. “I wouldn't hit on you anyway to be honest. I'm too afraid of men to do that, which considering my past, you'd understand. I know, weird, I'm talking to a guy but you seem kinda harmless. Not that I know you or anything. I just know you're really quiet and like to read.” 

She places a dark curl behind her ear. “I'm probably getting on your nerves. I should shut up.” She goes quiet, sipping and eating for two minutes before she hears his voice.

“No,” he said, clearly.

She blinks. “No, what?”

“Keep talking. I don't mind,” He said, but he still wouldn't look over. 

She's surprised, she was expecting something like: _leave me alone._ “Oh... now I don't know what to say,” she said, laughing. 

He doesn't respond though.

“Once when I was a teenager, when I actually had friends, we went to a Wendy's drive thru without a car, drunk. We actually talked them into allowing us to get our food, but there was this ghetto ass girl there and she was all _'Nope, you cannot, get the hell out of here, you little shits.'_ However, this nice manager guy allowed us to get our food, which was good because we all had the munchies and we had ordered a lot of food,” she said. “Afterward, in the parking lot, I threw up everywhere. Even on my crush's shoes at the time. He was an asshole and pushed me down, called me Pukey McPukeface for the rest of the time we hung together. Guess I really couldn't blame him.”

There's a glimmer of a tremble that runs through his body. Is he laughing? She wonders, but she doubts he actually is. He doesn't seem like the laughing kind. Not from what she's learned of him. 

For the next hour she rambles about her brothers and sisters, how they've managed to get out of the home and be normal, how her father left when she was only four. How her mom was married two more times after that. By the time she's done, he leaves.

Xxxxxxxx

She's not here today. He was expecting it as soon as he walked in. He guessed he was getting used to her. He almost misses her presence. The constant, insistent chattering in his ears. Somehow, making a friend without even talking back. Isn't this what he does with hacking? Getting to know people without them really knowing. Only, it's being handed to him on a silver platter.

He was tempted to hack her, but he's staying away from computers since everything went down. He doesn't want to have another mishap, allow Mr. Robot to get him into even more trouble than he already is. It's bad enough he caused markets to collapse and cause people to have to close down their businesses. He always wanted to cause mayhem and chaos for the white collar community, but it seems it's hurting the little people instead. He really should have thought in hindsight. 

Well, Mr. Robot should have but he seems to be chaos incarnate and that means he probably doesn't care what he does too others as long as he gets what he wants. 

Maybe, he came here early today, so he could see her. Maybe, he'll show his face and talk. It seems better to remain quiet and invisible in her presence, even though he feels like they're forming a connection. He continues reading Heart Shape box, he's halfway through. He likes the girl who used to be the rockstar's girlfriend once upon a time, the one he turned away. She was lonely, sad like him and she couldn't find her way out of it. It's the same old song and dance. 

He's engrossed, zoned out, so he almost doesn't notice his new companion taking a seat beside him on the bench, giving him room to breathe.

“Hey, nice seeing you today,” she said quietly. She sounds tired, worn out and a little sad. He wants to ask what's wrong but he refrains. She tells him anyway. “So... I forgot to take my pills last night and woke up all suicidal. I almost took a whole bottle of Vicodin but my mom caught me and threatened me with a hospital stay. I can't stand the hospital, I always feel like someone's going to fuck with me there and I'm not about to go through with that. I'm just starting to get better.”

She doesn't say anything for a long time after that, like talking is too hard and he misses her voice already. It's a a little on the husky side but nice. He really wants to say something, but he doesn't know how to make his mouth work. 

“The voices come when I don't take my pills... they say all these terrible things that I don't want to think about or talk about. I'll probably never live normal because of them, so, my life pretty much sucks but I'm not asking for your pity. Never that, I promise,” She said in another quiet way. “I've never liked pity, it's... it doesn't feel right for people to feel sorry for you. There's a big difference between sympathy and pity that I can't even describe. I just know sympathy is understanding and care. People being there for you despite all the troubles you go through. Not that I'm expecting that from you because I'm not.”

_'I could be a sympathizer, it could be easy for anyone else but not for me.'_

“How are you liking the book?,” she asked, but I don't answer. “Bet it's really good, huh?”

“Well, I have an online friend, who is a girl. A very beautiful girl, I wonder why the hell she spends all her time online but she has social anxiety like me and panic attacks, so, it makes sense,” she begins. “Last night she tells me she has feelings for me and I have no clue how to respond. On one hand, I think I might be a lesbian because I do find girls attractive and everything but on the other, I find guys way more attractive sexually. … Okay, wow, I'm embarrassing myself here but like, I feel bad because do I give her a chance and start an online relationship that might turn into something serious down the road, where we end up meeting and I can't you know, perform because she's a chick or do I let her down easily and break her heart?” 

He doesn't know. It sounds complicated but then, everything is. He knows if a guy caught feelings for him, even online, he'd find some way to let him down. He thinks men can be attractive in his eyes, but not sexually. One time someone asked if he was a power bottom. If he was feisty, they assumed because he was average height for a male and skinny as he is. He took a little offense, but not much. He doesn't think he gives off gay vibes. No one else has said their gaydar goes off around him. Whatever that means. He opens his mouth to say something, but he knows she'll work it out herself.

“Maybe I should give her a chance. I've gone beyond loneliness, to the point where I'm perfectly fine being alone but why not … I don't know, gain myself a partner or something. Maybe we'll end up together until one of us dies, we'll adopt a couple of kids, get a nice house and we'll make each other better somehow,” She continues, sounding thoughtful.

He's never really considered having children, he'd make a terrible parent. No. It's more that he's afraid he'll turn into a shitty parent like his mom, or turn cold like his father just because he has a scared son, who's worried about his father. Having someone in his life is a difficult thought, after Shayla he considered even giving up on his semi-dream of being with Angela. To be married to her, but part of him still feels in love with her. Marriage is a crock of shit anyway. And unlike Sabrina, he always feels alone, no matter how far it goes, it never changes. He can't escape it. 

“On another hand, I'd be so shitty at a relationship. I've never had a significant other or anything like that except someone online about three years ago, who still lived at home like me because he was blind. We talked on the phone a lot, we planned on meeting. He didn't care about my skin color, or the fact that I wasn't all that pretty and I enjoyed that,” she said, sounding nostalgic. “His parents found out though and threatened to take his computer and everything else away, because I'm half black. They felt it was wrong and I was a mistake. Talk about a blow to my self-confidence. Now I always think there's something wrong with me. That anyone will find something wrong with me, because I don't like black guys like that, nothing wrong because a lot of them are handsome, but not sexually to me. It's expected that I be with one or something. By the white community and black community, at least that's what it feels like.”

He blinks. People still care about others mixing? Isn't this the 2010's? Are we still that petty and trivial? Do we really care so much about rather we make babies with someone of the opposite race? He just stops reading for a moment, wanting to really say something now. Something comforting. He would suck at it, so he doesn't especially when his cellphone buzzes. 

He reaches into his pocket, pulls it out and reads through. It's Darlene, wanting to know where he's at. There's a problem, they need to meet. He thinks on it. He knows she'll want him to use a computer and the internet, he knows she'll end up expecting it but he can't, he's already screwed up so much as it is. “I gotta go,” he said, as he picked up his things. He starts leaving her behind, but stops with his back to her to speak. “There's nothing wrong with you. It's them,” He said smoothly, then continued. “Don't do what's expected of you, other people can go fuck themselves.” Did he really just say that out loud? He looks around slowly, no one has heard besides her, he's sure. 

Then he's gone. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She's starting to feel selfish, she wants to hear the hooded man's story. He actually said more than four words to her the other day and she feels hopeful. They were positive words, they were what she needed to hear. He sounded genuine, sincere. She smiled the whole way home. Today she decided on double chunk, chocolate chip cookies, a pumpkin spice cappuccino and a roast beef sub to change it up. It's fall food. She sits there, watching the door quietly as he picks at her food. Pulling it apart and eating it, she still eats like she did when she was five. Clean but picky. 

She looks up and the hooded man enters. She smiles to herself and looks away. She takes another bite of her roast sub and a drink of her cappuccino, she thinks she'll order another one before she leaves. A few minutes later the hooded man sits next to her, with a different book this time. Stephen King's The Stand. 

“Morning, Mr. Hood!,” she exclaims. “So... an update. I let her down gently, she was sad but understood. I regret it a little but I don't want to find out I can't have the lezzybean sex with her later on and what not. You know?” She shrugs. “Good booking you're reading today. I read that as a teen, couldn't put it down and got a tick in my leg from being outside all day in the country since I had been staying with my grandparents that summer. I never stayed outside all day after that, too scared I'd get another freaking tick.”

He's reading but he pauses every second to listen, she can tell. 

“Today I ordered differently, a pumpkin spice cappuccino. I know, the white girl drink but I'm half white and I will not apologize. Besides, it's delicious and I love everything about Fall, including October and Halloween. All the candy, scary movies and costumes,” she said, nearly bouncing in her seat. “I might actually pass out candy this Halloween. I haven't done it in years, but my mom asked me if I wanted to and I just might. I miss all the kiddlings in their costumes, being all cute and mini.” 

“Elliot,” His voice said, coming out of left field. 

She looks over. “Your name is Elliot?”

“Yeah. Alderson,” He replied, looking over briefly but she still couldn't see his face. 

“Elliot Alderson,” She said, rolling around his name in her mouth, then smiled. “I like it.”

“Thanks?,” He said, sounding more like a question.

“It's pretty,” she answered. She imagines his confused look but he doesn't say anything. “Thanks for telling me your name. I was starting to think I was imagining you and you were for now, my unnamed hallucination.” 

“I'm real..,” he said, trailing off, like he couldn't quite believe what he was saying. 

“I can see that, Mr. Alderson,” She said, biting into a cookie. 

“Just Elliot,” he answered, glancing over at her. 

“Okay. Want a cookie? I bought a couple extra just incase you showed up,” She asked him.

“What kind?,” He asked. 

“Double chocolate chip chunk. However you say it. Reeeeaaaallllly good,” She told him, shoving two cookies in his direction. 

He seems to be mulling it over. Like he prefers raisin to chocolate chip. She wouldn't be surprised, her own sister actually does. Some people do. But then he reaches over and grabs the cookies, starts breaking off a piece of one and it disappears underneath the hood. “Thanks.” It sounds like his mouth is a little full.

“You should show me your face sometime. I promise, if you're fugley, I won't scream,” she said, chuckling.

He looks like he's considering, before he finally pulls off his hood. Revealing a shaved around head and hair on top. He stops chewing on his cookie for a moment, turning to look at her slowly, his eyes are a little hooded like he might be high, and he looks... kind of dead to the world really. For some reason it makes he sad. Honestly? He's handsome. Obviously not fully white, or if he even has any white in him at all. He has really cute ears, she kind of wants to bite on them. That's when she looks down, and feels heat rise to her cheeks. “You're... really handsome.” 

He glances at her for a moment, a slight crease between his eyebrows, before looking away and eating another piece of cookie. 

“Sorry, like I said, I don't do well around men, especially good looking men,” She told him, shrugging her shoulders. she was anything but nonchalant. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Elliot answered, eyes going back to the book but at least he didn't put back up the hood. 

She felt nervous suddenly, wanting to leave. “I should go.” She's afraid of many things suddenly, without meaning to be. That she'll develop a crush on him, especially because now he's talking and she's seen him. That he probably thinks she's ugly, because of how good looking he is. She'll make him uncomfortable, because now that she's said he's handsome, he'll think she'll be some insatiable and lustful chick after him. 

He looks over at her, a subtle puzzled expression on his face. “Will I see you later?” 

She nods slowly. “Y-Ye-Yeah.” She finishes up, orders another cappuccino and decides to at least apologize. “I'm sorry, Elliot. I'll feel better next time. Right now I'm just being an intimidated fucktard.”

“You shouldn't be... I'm just me,” he answered, still looking puzzled.

“I know, but that's just me,” She said, shrugging and swallowing as she looked down at her feet.

“I hope you feel better,” Elliot said, turning a page.

She nodded. “Thanks. Me too.” 

Now he'll think she's a weak and fragile idiot who needs to put down, which she is and it's true. So, she walks out the door and down the street, wondering if she'll even come back.


	2. Chapter 2

It's two weeks before she comes back. He comes in everyday, waiting around for her but she never comes. He actually misses her, wants to hear her stories and keep talking about herself. He thinks she's lying to herself, that she actually is lonely. It's just that she's gotten so used to it, that it doesn't register anymore. He's alternated between spiced pumpkin cappuccinos and vanilla cappuccinos and he really doesn't know why. Other than he wants to know what it's like to be her. He often does this when he gets to know someone by hacking. 

He's still tempted to hack her, but he refrains. He wants to see her on her webcam, know what she's doing when she's not here. He's not falling in love or anything, but he's come to care about her. To sympathize, he thinks he understands her. He has some of the same issues. He might not hear voices, but right here, right now, Mr. Robot sits, humming to himself as he drinks coffee, making Elliot wonder if it's him currently doing it. 

He doesn't think he's good looking, so he doesn't understand why she ran away. He's never been intimidating. She's right, he's harmless. He's also weak. Fragile. He doesn't want to be, but there it is. He's just about to leave when the bell dings, he looks up, subtle and then sees her walk in wearing a long black sweater jacket, dark blue jeans and a grey shirt underneath. He notices this time she is pretty, but he's becoming biased. 

She gives a little wave as she walks past, a small smile on her lips as she goes to the counter. She orders another pumpkin spice, a turkey sub and raisin cookies. He prefers raisin to chocolate chip anything but he'll eat both. She orders extra. He almost wants to smile, because he know they're for him.

She brings her food and drink over, taking her usual seat beside him. She draws her legs underneath her, he gets the feeling this is a mechanism, some way to distance herself from him. He doesn't know how he feels about that. She wordlessly pushes the two cookies in his direction and he takes them. “I was beginning to wonder when you would show up,” He said, popping a piece in his mouth.

She surprisingly says nothing, just pulls apart a piece of cookie and nibbles like a mouse. Like she always does, he's come to find it cute. “Now you're ignoring me?”

She blinks and looks over. Shaking her head. “No... I'm just quiet today. It hasn't been a two good weeks. I relapsed by staying in my house, on the internet all the time and only interacted with my mom. I haven't even talked to my online friends.”

“Why?,” he asked, but he thinks he gets it. 

“I don't know really... whenever I get super paranoid it happens. I disappear on people a lot without meaning to but it can't be helped. Not from me anyway,” she said, shrugging. 

He's never done that, disappeared on people. Sure, he goes away for a few days to get his head together but even then he'll eventually throw a text someone's way to let them know he hasn't crawled underneath someone's porch and died like a some diseased cat. “Do you talk with your therapist about it?”

“Yeah, I do. She thinks I'm just afraid of being close to others, to letting them in, so I run,” she answered. “She's right.” 

She was fine telling him about herself, so it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to him. But then thoughts enter his head, like... she was fine when she couldn't see his face. It doesn't really boil down to her thinking he's good looking but the fact that she's faced with him now, it's different. “You're afraid of me.”

She blinks then nods. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“It's okay. I'm afraid of you too,” He admits, chewing on a piece of cookie.

“Why?,” She asked, eyebrow raised.

“Because I want to be your friend and let you in,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “It's kind of new for me.” 

“Oh...,” she said, trailing off. “I wouldn't mind being your friend either.”

“I...,” he trails off. “I have the same issues as you. Social anxiety, depression, paranoia except I don't hear voices. Instead I see hallucinations and have an alter ego.” He wasn't about to say who his alter ego was, maybe later. 

“... Small world,” she said, holding back a smile. A smile that would indicate she's happy she's found someone like her. Because, isn't that what everyone wants? To find someone like them, that can understand them? That won't judge, that will hold your hand and help you through life, being each others' guides. He's thought about it before, finding someone like that but he's always figured that no one is crazy like him. Well, logically he knows there are other people out there like him, but he doesn't believe they would ever exist near him unless he admitted himself to a mental health facility and usually the people there don't want bothered or he was too paranoid to just talk to someone, even on medication. “Guess I'm not alone.”

“No, you're not,” he answered, turning a page in his book. He wasn't really paying attention but he was trying. He found talking to her a lot more interesting than the book at the moment. 

“I was thinking... if you wanted,” she starts. “It's a week to Halloween. Would you want to come to my house, maybe dress up, pass out candy and then watch movies? We could watch cheesy horror movies. I totally vote Maximum Overdrive and The Stand.” 

He mulls it over. It's been a long time since he's gone to a friend's house for socializing. He doesn't know what to say.

“Or we could do it at yours, if you want,” She said, sounding nervous and bashful. Yet another cute thing.

“I live an a apartment complex,” he told her, hoping it was obvious what he was saying. 

“Oh, okay,” She answered, nodding, sounding disappointed. 

“But... I could come to your house. Seeing little kids being innocent in their costumes would be refreshing,” He admits, feeling a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Awesome,” She said, face brightening. 

“I could walk you home today too. Do you live around here?,” he asked. 

“Actually I live far enough away to use the subway, so I wouldn't want you to go through the trouble,” She said, shaking her head. 

“It's not a big deal. I use the subway all the time to go everywhere,” He said. “It's just to give me an idea about where you live.”

“Okay. Long as you can make it back to your neighborhood,” She said, giving a little smile.

“I can,” He said, a subtle nod. 

For the rest of their meals, he alternates between reading and talking to her about various things. Politics, the recent crash of the markets due to the Ecorp fallout, which he keeps his fault of it solemnly to himself. She talks about her mom, how they've grown really close over the years. How she can calm her down she's due for a mental break down. It makes him wish he and his mom had become close. That she hadn't been so abusive toward him. Then again, he always wishes that. 

They both order another pumpkin spice cappuccino and walk out of the cafe, some space between them as they walk for the subway, the silence is comfortable as they get there and get inside. Then they ride together, his hands in his pockets and her head resting back against the window. “You're really nice.”

“Sometimes, I'm an asshole,” he said, glancing over at her. 

“How so?,” she asked, face curious. 

“If you had given up on talking to me, I never would have said anything. I would have continued to ignore you if you had continued to sit next to me. I don't know how to talk to people, I'm a failure at it,” he admitted.

“You're talking just fine now,” She said, frowning.

“... That's because I'm starting to feel comfortable enough with you,” he said, making sure not to look at her. He didn't want to give her grenades of ammo, to let her see now she had some leeway over him. Not much but just enough to be hurt. But she doesn't seem like she would.

“I'm starting to feel comfortable with you too,” She admits, smiling bashfully. “But ignoring people doesn't make you an asshole, especially when you're paranoid and afraid of others.” 

“I guess not,” he answered.

“Have I told you about my homicidal thoughts yet?”

“No.”

“Well, I have a lot of them. When people are assholes toward me, or assholes toward others. I think about killing them, something else I need to work on my therapists says and if I'm not having those thoughts about you, obviously you're no asshole,” she tells him, looking fidgety. 

“I used to be homicidal in my head as a teenager,” Elliot says, eyes squinting as they come to their stop. They both stand and walk onto the platform, heading up the stairs and out onto the street. “Now I'm too passive to think about killing anyone. Sometimes, anyway.” 

“It's no good to be a stepping stone, but it's no good to want to kill anyone either. At some point you have to realize being cruel or mean is just human nature.”

“People are animals, they can't help it?”

“Something like that. Yeah.”

“I think you're right but they can learn. Learning is a part of life, if we don't do it, we're doomed to repeat the same mistakes.”

She smiled. “I think you're right too.” 

Then she stopped in front of a house with set of small steps and a very small porch. “This is my stop.”

He nodded. “Okay, well, I'll see you later.”

“Elliot?,” she asked tentatively as he stopped, looking at her. She moves forward wrapping her arms around his midsection, then her hands slide up onto his shoulder blades, head on his shoulder as she squeezes tight. He feels really uncomfortable. He's gotten use to her, sure, but he doesn't know if he's ready for hugs. It doesn't stop him from awkwardly hugging back though. “Thanks for everything.”

He pulls away, afraid she might push him or something but she doesn't. “Halloween. Next week?”

“Yeah,” She said, nodding with a smile. 

“What time?,” he asked, for some reason, just not ready to leave but he knows he has to go. 

“Before five at least?,” she forms a question and a statement all at once. 

“Sounds good. I'll bring candy,” He said, as he placed his hands in his pockets. 

“Okay... well, I should get inside, my mom is probably worried,” she said, looking reluctant too. 

“See you later,” he said, turning around and walking away. 

He frowns just a little. What was that about? 

Xxxxxxxxxx

She looks in the full length mirror for the second time that hour. Okay, she looks okay. She's wearing a Sarah Sanderson Hocus Pocus costume, full with blonde wig and make up, even though she looks nothing like the character. Her face isn't long enough like Sarah Jessica Parker, she really should have went with Winifred or Mary. She may not be thick like them but she could at least pulled off the faces. But Sarah is her favorite, not to mention favorite female name. If she ever has kids, which will never happen, she plans to name her first daughter that. 

It's quarter to four, mom and her decorated the house last week. The outside and inside, they considered doing a haunted house but with her mom working all the time, kids she can deal with, they're unassuming and sweet but it's adults she'd have panic attacks with.

She goes downstairs, grabs the four bags of candy. She empties hard and soft candies into a bowl, allergy free and then two bags of chocolate and empties them into a bowl. Elliot said he'd be bringing candy, so there should be enough for a hundred kids. Her mom and her are well off, so it's not that big a deal. She should have asked for reserves but she doesn't know how long she can stay outside socializing. 

Next she picks up the remote to the living room television and puts it on chiller, where they're playing horror movies all day but she ordered some cheesy movies online, she plans on watching with her new friend. Trick or Treating doesn't start until 6:15, 

She waits quietly as she watches the remake of Nightmare on Elmstreet which she kinda hates since the original was ten times better but she needs something to pass the time. She glances at the clock every fifteen minutes and by the time five thirty rolls around, there's no Elliot. Maybe, he forgot? It's not like they exchanged numbers or anything. So, she can't get in contact with him. What if he decided she was too lame to hang out with? Was he just being nice the other day? Or maybe … maybe, he was a serial killer and just wanted her home address. That would be great, just freaking great. 

Now she's having thoughts of protecting her mom and herself from an intruder, having to kill them in the process of survival. She's nervous, trying not to bite on her nails since she finally managed to grow them out and paint them for this costume. She's thinking of grabbing a knife from the kitchen when the doorbell rings. 

She stands in the middle of the living room for a moment, considering not answering the door. She knows it's not trick or treaters, it's no where near the time, it must be Elliot. She makes her way over to the door. Looks through the peephole, and there he is, eyes luminescent green. He has his hood up and looks a little skittish. Crestfallen as usual. She opens the door slowly and plasters on a smile like she hadn't been thinking he was a serial killer five minutes ago. “Hey!,” she exclaimed. “I'm glad you could make it.”

“Me too,” he said, standing there awkwardly. 

“Well, come in,” she told him as she stepped aside. 

He walks inside, looking around briefly before his eyes land on her costume. “Sarah from Hocus Pocus?”

She grins. “Yeah. I'd ask how you knew, but I think everyone knows that movie or it was a part of their childhood.”

He gives a subtle nod at her assumption, then holds up a bag. “Got chocolate and hard candy. Good enough?”

“Oh yeah,” she answered. “That's three of each then, plenty enough.”

She walks into the kitchen where the bowls are, flipping on the walls switch and light floods the room. “Want a caramel apple with nuts?”  
He looks thoughtful a minute, then nods. “Sure.”

She hands one over from the fridge, he takes it and takes a big bite. “Good?”

He nods again, continuing to eat.

She looks at his costume, curious. “What are you supposed to be?” 

“Modern day vampire,” He said. He was wearing what looked like a dark wool trench coat, his hair was styled a little differently than usual, more tousled but his hoodie was still under the trench.

“Where's the vampire part?,” She asked, laughing.

He gave a small smile as finished chewing a piece of his apple, licked his teeth and drew back to show his lengthened canines in the light. They looked real, which made her blink. “You're not a real vampire are you?” Not that she was stupid or childish enough to believe such thing.

He blinked back. “No. They're just expensive vampire teeth. I can eat and drink with them in. The trench coat was cheap.”

She smiled. “So, you're basically Angel from Buffy?”

“Exactly,” he said, resuming eating.

“if you had told me, I would have dressed up like her,” She joked, picking up a caramel apple herself, jumping up on the counter and biting into it. 

His brow furrowed as he looked at her briefly.

“Not that we're star-crossed lovers or anything,” she quickly added, feeling embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“You're fine. I know you meant nothing by it,” Elliot reassured her as he finished off his apple and tossed it in the trash.

She nodded, looking at the clock. “We should go outside in a few minutes. I figure it's not too cold, I'll put on a sweater, you already have a trench, so we can sit out there and pass out candy. Think you can handle it?”

He shrugged. “Just kids and their parents?”

“Pretty much. Maybe a couple of hot babysitters, nannies and their siblings too,” She answered. 

“I'll be fine,” he said. “Long as it's not kidless people my age, worried about social norms.” 

She gave a small smile as she hopped off the counter, finished eating her apple and threw it in the trash. “Come on. Grab that and bring your bag,” she pointed at the large green plastic bowl on the counter and she grabbed the orange one.

A few minutes later, she was wearing her black sweater jacket and sitting on the middle step of her porch, while Elliot sat beside her. “Did you trick or treat a lot as a kid?”

“Yeah. My dad would take my sister and me, we had a lot of fun,” he said, chocolate bowl in his lap, which was now overflowing with candy. 

“Your mom never took you?,” She asked, wondering if she was stepping on any toes right now.

He was quiet for a long time, before he spoke again. “Naw, my mom never got along with us.” 

“I'm sorry,” She answered quietly, wanting to reach out and touch his arm to comfort but she noticed last time how he had been awkward when he was touched for a hug. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, that's life,” he answered, as the first trick or treaters came.

She gushed over costumes, surprised to see Elliot smiling at the kids, telling them how cute they were. He looked uncomfortable when one of the kids came up in a mini fsociety mask and old timey suit. Well, they had caused a shitstorm to the point that people were having trouble staying afloat, so maybe Elliot was in such a position. 

“So many princesses, power rangers and wrestlers,” she muttered, laughing.

“It's what kids like,” he said, passing out more chocolate, which was more popular than the hard candy so far.

“Just like chocolate,” she said, passing out some hard. “But I can't blame them on that one. I'd ask for the whole bowl of chocolate if I could as a kid.”

“I remember getting stomach aches from hell,” he said. 

“Never for me, I was an insatiable chocolate lover. I could eat it all and never get sick,” she told him.

“Do we have some for later?,” he asked, glancing over at her.

“You bet your ass we do. I made sure to get us a couple small bags of different varieties,” she told him, grinning. 

“Sarah!,” Some little girl exclaimed, as Sabrina turned to look at her. 

She was wearing a Winifred costume and what she supposed was her sister was wearing a Sarah costume too. Only a kid friendly version of it. 

She grinned, surprised it was recognized. “It's nice to see you, Wini. And little Sarah.”

They both squealed. “Hiya, big Sarah!,” the little Sarah said, trembling with excitement. 

“I think they deserve some extra candy,” Elliot said, as he gave them three pieces of chocolate a piece. 

She followed suit with the hard. “You guys are adorable. I hope you get all the good stuff tonight.”

Their mother laughed. “Sorry, they're so excitable.”

“No way, it's cute. I hope you guys have a safe evening,” Sabrina told them.

“You too,” The mom called after them as they walked down the street, the mini Winifred looking back at them, all smiles.

“I wish I could have stolen them and kept them forever,” she said, sighing.

Elliot huffed, which might have been a laugh. “I think you'd go to prison.” 

“Probably but did you see their big blue eyes? So freaking cute,” She said, passing out more candy as she gushed over new costumes. 

“I saw,” Elliot murmured.

“You probably think I'm a weirdo now,” Sabrina muttered, embarrassed.

“You weren't before?,” He asked, surprising her with the joke. 

“Shut it,” she said, tempted to push at his arm but she didn't.

There was a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips as he looked down. 

They ran out of candy by seven thirty, forty five minutes before trick or treating was over. She was glad she didn't have a nervous break down, it was probably due to Elliot being with her the whole time. They walked inside with their empty bowls, where she instructed Elliot to take off his shoes and coat. She took off her sweater jacket and she went into the kitchen. “Okay. So, we can order out. The closest places to here that will deliver fast are Golden Chopsticks, which you can guess is Chinese. Perez, which is Mexican and Charlie's Pizzeria. What are you in the mood for?”

“Is Indian an option?,” he asked, sitting at the kitchen nook.

She's never actually tried Indian food but there's a first time for everything. “No clue, but I can look.” She picked up her cellphone and went through google delivery services near her home. It didn't take long, there was an Indian place after all. “Found one. Now I've never had Indian before. So, you'll have to tell me what's good.”

Elliot looked over with an unreadable expression. “You've lived in New York City all this time and not once?”

She shook her head. “Not once. Nope.” 

“Chicken or Beef?,” he asked.

“Chicken,” she answered, phone in hand. 

“Alu Gobi is what you want. I want Beef Vindaloo,” Eliot told her. “And I'll pay for it.”

“Nah, I got this,” she said as she picked up the phone and started dialing.

“Just let me, okay? I managed to get myself a new job and I have the money now,” he told her, being adamant.

She frowned a little. “If you insist but I have a card and can pay that way. Just give me cash in return. Except, half. We go both ways.”

He stared at her for a few moments, then nodded. He was probably annoyed with her stubbornness. 

She called and thirty minutes later they had their food. They went to the living room, with drinks and plates, sitting down on the couch. She got up to put Maximum Overdrive in and began the movie.

The were on opposite sides of the couch, being quiet as they watched. Then she spoke a quarter way in. “I used to have the biggest crush on Emilio. Probably why I liked this movie so much as a kid.” 

“Linda Hamilton in the Terminator films and Children of the corn,” Elliot admitted.

“Linda was a hottie. I love her,” Sabrina said. 

“Yeah,” Elliot said. 

“How likely do you think monster trucks will be our overlords someday?,” She asked, eyes glued to the screen.

“As likely as cats will be,” Elliot said, glancing over at her as their eyes caught. 

She laughed. “I think cats will become sentient beings first.” 

“I'd rather dogs did,” he said.

“Hey, cats are great,” She shot back.

“Dogs are better companions,” he told her. 

She rolled her eyes. “Have fun with your smelly mutts.”

“I have one of those smelly mutts,” he said, facial expression unreadable.

She chuckled. “Bet they're cute.” 

“She is,” Elliot said, sounding genuine. 

“I'll have to meet her sometime.”

“That means you'll have to come to my place next time,” he said, looking a little thoughtful.

“I don't mind that,” she answered, honestly. She'd love to see where he lived. 

“Alright.” 

By the second half of The Stand, they had somehow ended up closer together, their shoulders brushing. “I'm enjoying spending time with you,” she said sleepily. “After this, you going home?”

He blinked his eyes, he looked really tired. “I'm enjoying it too,” he said, yawning. “What time is it?”

He looked around slowly.

“It's almost ten thirty,” she told him.

“I'll finish this and then I'll head home,” he answered as their eyes caught.

Once again, there was that dark lifesaver green of his eyes. She swallowed, looking away for a moment before looking back up. She was trying to make everything comfortable for him, because she didn't want him thinking she wanted him, but she could easily develop a crush, she knew that much. He was handsome, he was comforting to be around but he was her first friend in a long time and she didn't want to screw that up. She nodded. “Okay.” 

But he hadn't looked away, his eyes trailed down to her lips and he moved forward, kissing her on the lips gently. For just a few brief seconds, chaste. She blinked, staring for a few seconds, confused. “Oh...”

“Was that okay?,” He asked, looking a little worried. 

She didn't know what to say but... “It was okay. Yeah...”

Elliot gave a small frown. “Are you sure?”

She felt bold for just a second and leaned forward, kissing him for seconds longer than he kissed her, lips smacking the air and he got with the program easily enough. His hands laid on her hands and he wrapped them around hers because hers were smaller. She pulls back, looking down bashfully. “It's more than okay.” 

He kisses her one last time, before scooting down a little and placing his head on her shoulder, eyes on the movie. He removes his right hand on her left, but his left on her right never strays. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest a little too harshly and she wonders what the hell this means. Instead of dwelling on it, she decides to watch the movie instead.

By the end of the movie, She's slumped over on her side, half asleep and Elliot ends up laying against her, softly snoring. Knocked out. Her hand finds it's way into his soft tufts of hair and she strokes gently, as he makes a mm sound in his throat. She really should wake him up, but he's tired and she really doesn't want him walking home this late, even if he does it any other time. 

She touches her lips in the silence of the room, hoping her mom isn't too upset when she sees she has had a guy stay over. She had told her she was having a guy friend come over, which she was fine with and she is twenty-eight, so it shouldn't be a big deal. 

She continues touching her lips, eyes closing as she smiles. She doesn't know what this is, but she doesn't mind. Whatever happens, happens.

Xxxx

“I think I'm falling in love,” he said, leaning back against Krista's couch like he always does.

“With the girl at the cafe?,” Krista asked, a small smile on her lips.

“Yes. She's getting underneath my skin,” Elliot admitted. 

“Isn't that a good thing?” She asked.

“I don't know. Once people have a hold of you, they can hurt you and I don't want to be hurt,” He said, staring her straight in the face.

“There's always risks when it comes to love, Elliot,” Krista said, always the voice of reason. “She could be good for you. You could be good for her.”

“How can I be good for her?” He said, because he knew he was a mess.

“You said you have some of the same issues. That she's trying to be around people more, like you should be doing,” Krista said. “You mentioned sameness before. Isn't this positive sameness? Does she make you feel good?”

“She always makes me feel good,” he said, shrugging. 

“Did you spend Halloween with her?,” Krista asks, giving a small smile.

“Yes,” he answered, honestly.

“Did you have a good time?,” Krista asked.

Did he? They watched movies, passed out candy, ate together. Kissed. There were three kisses. They were good, but a little inexperienced on her end. He just felt like it, because when he saw her face, he felt compelled. Then they fell asleep together. Her mom had this pleased look on her face in the morning, made him breakfast and tried to get him to stay longer but he felt cornered. However it had been... “A very good time.” 

“That's good, Elliot,” Krista said, sounding pleased. “I think you should continue spending time with her. Maybe, she'll rub off on you.” 

He wasn't sure about that but being around her made him feel really good. Made him feel more at ease. He wanted to be around her, sometimes, he wanted to touch her and be touched by her. He wanted to share parts of himself he hadn't with anyone else. Sometimes, he wanted to talk about Mr. Robot and how he was ruining his life. There were a lot of things he would do and wouldn't do, but the fact remained, he was pretty sure he was falling in love. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“I don't know if the stories people tell anymore are true,” She began. “I think they're all contrived for me, for some nefarious purpose. So, I know nothing about them or for entertainment purposes. Sometimes, I wonder if they're even who they say they are.”

He looks over slowly, surprised. She feels that way too? Is she in his head? She's not in his head, is she? He suddenly feels more paranoid then usual, but he knows she'd tell him if she could read his mind. 

“It's especially difficult online, so, sometimes I wonder why I stay on there. But it helps me maintain sanity, having an outlet,” she told him, sipping her cappuccino. Today it's a double mocha. It's not always the same, he likes that. “Even when I see pictures and proof of other people having been there, I still think it's something to do with me. Isn't that just fucking narcissistic?”

“I know how you feel,” he said, candidly. It's true, one reason he loves computers and hacking. It brings a comfort to him. “I wonder the same things sometimes. I have a hard time telling the difference between reality and fantasy. I lose track of days, memories and times. It always feels like I'm one step closer to madness.” 

She looks at him, there's sympathy on her face, concern, not pity. He likes that it's not pity. “What do you mean lose track of days?”

“Mr. Robot... it's why you don't see me sometimes. For a long time. He takes over, and I have no recollection of where I've been during that time or what he's done. There's times I wake up in strange places or I _wake_ walking somewhere, no clue where I am.” 

“I think I'd go crazy with that ontop of everything else I have,” she said. “I already have a terrible memory attributed to my mental illnesses. How the hell do you live with it?”

“I have no choice but to live with it.”

“Don't you take medicine?,” She asked, frowning as she sipped. 

“I tried. I didn't like the way it made me feel. I felt too different, not like me,” he admitted, taking a drink of his iced coffee. 

She looks down, he can't tell what that means and it bothers him. “I understand. Sometimes, I wonder what I'd be like without all the things wrong with me, without medication. Before it, I was pretty much the epitome of crazy. Just ask my mom.” She laughs, it sounds bitter, self-deprecating.

“You're not crazy,” He said, because he didn't think she was. 

“Neither are you, Elliot,” she said quietly, reaching out and placing a hand over his. 

His hand tingles, warms. He looks down and doesn't feel like pulling away. He flexes his fingers and allows her hand to stay. “I feel like it.”

“Just because things aren't firing off in your brain right, doesn't mean you're a nut. Just means you were dealt a shitty card,” she said, squeezing his hand before pulling away. He misses the contact. 

He looks straight ahead, fingers still flexing. He wants to reach out but doesn't know how. It's easy to kiss but true intimacy in touch is more difficult, initiating it that is. “It's hard to believe that with the way I live. The things I've done.”

“Elliot... if anything, I don't think you're crazy, no matter what the hell you've done. Long as you haven't raped or sexually assaulted anyone, you're cool in my book,” she told him, squeezing his arm. 

“I don't like being touched,” he told her, but it wasn't to warn her off. 

“Oh, sorry,” she said, pulling her hand away and looking down, her face conveying hurt. 

“No. Sometimes, I don't mind being touched by you,” he told her, to wipe that look off her face. “But sometimes it can't be helped.” 

She looks up, a small smile on her face. “Did something happen to you to start you not liking it?”

He doesn't know if he wants to tell her, he's not positive but he does anyway. “I'm sure it started when my dad pushed me out a window when I was a kid. But, don't think too bad about him. He was sick, I told my mom when he didn't want me to. He was angry but I hugged him and he pushed me to get me away from him. I fell... since then, I just haven't liked being touched.” 

“Still, he shouldn't have pushed you,” she murmured. 

“I shouldn't have said anything.”

“You were a kid.”

“My dad was my bestfriend and I was his. I betrayed his confidence,” he finds himself defending, because he still in part blames himself. 

She nods. “I get that, but sometime, kids do stupid things. He should have known better, not you.” 

He goes silent, he really doesn't want to talk about this. At all. He knows if he stops talking about it, she will too.

“if it helps though. I'm afraid of sex. Any kind of sex because of shit that happened to me as a kid,” she admitted, looking away like she was ashamed. His heart suddenly hurts. She doesn't have to say the exact reason why. He's smart enough to figure it out. “So, you're afraid of being touched. I'm afraid of sex. What a perfect pair we make.” 

He wants to laugh, somewhat bitter, a little hysterically and ironically. A dramedy all balled up into one. What a perfect pair they make indeed. “Want to get out of here and go for a walk?,” he found himself asking. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Let's get some energy reserves to go.”

He agrees, they grab what they need and they're out the door.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She's got her backpack of night clothes and tomorrow clothes over her shoulders. She would have brought her laptop but apparently, Elliot doesn't have wifi. She can survive for a night, even if her mind is panicking... besides, she's going to spend time with a friend. They're going to watch movies and play video games. It should be entertainment enough. She stands outside the cafe, six o'clock in the evening. The days are getting shorter, it's really cold. She rubs her hands together, pulling her olive sweater jacket around her tighter. 

Just as she's about to go into the cafe for warmth, she sees the _mysterious_ hooded figure coming her way. “Ellllllioooootttt,” she sing songs, running over him but doesn't hug. “I was starting to get cold, asshole.” 

There's a small smile to his lips. “Maybe, I want you to be a tasty popsicle.”

She blinks, furrowing her brows. “Did you seriously just make a sexual joke, El?” 

He keeps straight face as he speaks. “Yes?”

“Wow, I didn't think you had it in you,” she said, smirking. 

He shrugged. “My apartment is six blocks from here.” 

“Lead the way,” she said, waving a hand in general directions. 

He started walking west, where he had come from. 

They fell in step together, the walk a little quiet, until she started speaking. “My mom is proud of me once more because I'm staying at a real live friend's house. She tried shoving condoms at me since you're a guy, but I had to like explain we … well, we aren't anything like that and she shouldn't just assume, because I'm not.” 

“Do you want it to be something you can assume?,” he asked, glancing at her.

“Don't know. Do you?,” She shot back, voice nervous. This was new territory for her and she wasn't about to step on his toes. 

There's was silence for a long moment, before Elliot reached over and grabbed her cold hand with two hands as they stopped and he cupped it, bringing it to his mouth as he blew warm breath over it. Then he picked up the other one and did the same. Then kissed both. His face was unreadable as he spoke. “Does that answer your question?” 

She smiled, understanding perfectly. “Yeah.” 

He dropped her hands slowly then entangled one of them with his as they kept walking. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

His apartment was sparse but had a few things in it. It needed some decorating. There was no computer or even a laptop around, which she found strange because pretty much everyone had one or the other or both these days. She dropped her bag by the door and walked inside. “Nice digs.”

He looked back at her. “It could be better.” 

“A little,” she admitted. “You need an interior designer.” 

He huffed. “Nah.” 

She chuckled as she made herself at home, kicked off her shoes by the door and sat on the couch. “I brought microwave popcorn, and chocolat.” 

“Mm,” he answered quietly. “Anything special you want for dinner? I can't cook but I can do a mean take out.” 

“Whatever you want, I'm not picky,” She said, shrugging.

“I've seen the way you eat, you're picky,” he retorted, picking up his phone and scrolling through contacts.

“Hey, that's the way I eat. I've always been a picker but otherwise, when it comes to food, I'll eat just about anything besides pig intestines, collard greens, pigs feet and any other kind of gross shit.” 

“I'm teasing, Sab,” he said, as he leaned back on the couch with one hand in his hoodie pocket.

“I know,” she said, sticking out her tongue. 

He gave a small smile, as he ordered the same exact Indian food from the last time they had hung out in an intimate setting. Twenty minutes later food came and then he put in Terminator #1 as discussed. They had exchanged numbers post Halloween morning and ended up deciding on the first two Terminator films and first two children of the corn. Being that she had massive crushes on Malachi, Micah and Kyle Reese growing up. 

“Dude. What would you do if someone came to you and said there's a killer robot on the loose, and it's after you because you're the future of mankind's savior?,” she asked, yawning a little. 

“I'd probably hide,” he admitted, taking a bite of his food.

She laughed, chomping a piece of chicken. “I'd do the same but then there's the adventure and possible weird romance.” 

“I'll pass,” he said as he leaned back, watching the beginning of the film.

“You're no fun,” she complained, poking him in the cheek. 

He smiled serenely, playfully chomping at her finger which she withdrew. “I'm a stick in the mud.” 

“Are you high?,” She asked, chuckling.

“I might have smoked a bowl,” he said, nodding slowly. 

“No wonder you're all lax and being playful.”

“One of the only times I know how.” 

“I wish I could but it'd just bite me in the ass,” she muttered.

He leaned over and kissed the corner of her mouth. “One day they'll find a cure for all this shit and we'll be free.” 

“Don't be such a optimist. I don't believe that for a second.”

He laughed quietly. “I don't either.”

She rolled her eyes, smacking his arm. “Asshole.”

He smiled at her fondly, his rare white teeth showing, making her shiver. “Can I be your asshole?”

She looked down, feeling her cheeks heat. “You can definitely be my asshole.”

“Gross, Sab. I'd rather be in than actually be.”

She blinked. “No, you're gross. A gross asshole.”

He laughed without actually laughing, his eyes closed and his body shook. Mouth hanging open as slight huffs of air came out. 

“Let me guess, it didn't start hitting you until now?,” She asked, placing her chin on his shoulder as she looked up.

“Yeah,” he answered, as he looked down. Eyes lidded and a smile on his face. 

They hadn't even been paying attention to the movie. Eating and joking around. They finished up their food and put the containers on the coffee table. She leaned up, kissing him on the mouth softly, bringing her hand to rest on his jaw and cheek. He closed his eyes and kissed back, slowly, languidly, then she pulled back. “Anyone ever tell you, you're pretty much the most adorable thing on Earth?” 

He blinked owlishly. “No.”  
'  
“Well, they should,” She said, nodding firmly. 

He huffed a laugh. “If I get a pen, can I connect the dots?”

She tilted her head. “Like a connect the dot puzzle thing? Do you have one somewhere?”

“No, Sab. Your freckles,” he said, tracing the dots on her cheek.

Her face warmed. “I doubt you could. They cover too much of my face.” 

“They're the cutest thing _I've_ ever seen,” he said, kissing her freckled nose.

She refrained from rolling her eyes. “Someone once told me they're angel kisses.” 

“I don't believe in god, but they might just be,” he said. 

She snorted. “Let's not discuss religion. I get the feeling you and I would beg to differ.”

“Seriously. Angel kisses. I can be your angel,” he said, kissing both her cheeks. “See, more have appeared already.

“Depends if I can be yours,” she said, trying to hold back a girly giggle. She hated doing that. 

“We can both be,” he said, nodding as he put his feet up on the couch and leaned down, placing his head in her lap. “We aren't even watching the movie.”

“I think I like watching you instead of the movie,” she admitted, feeling embarrassed.

“That was cheesy,” he said, huffing.

“Hey, I'm not the one that said I can be your angel, you fucking cheese monster,” she said, wanting to whap him in the head but didn't. Instead he fingers found their way into his hair and started sifting. 

“Mm... you said it back,” he said childishly.

“Yes, let's resort to that,” she said, pulling at his hair gently. 

“Watch what you're doing,” he warned.

“Pulling your hair?,” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That's kind of a turn on.” 

She flushed, pulling her hand away.

“I said stop doing that, not stop playing with my hair,' he said, turning his head around to look up at her. 

She looked away, embarrassed, kind of pleased with the idea that she _could_ if she really wanted to, slowly putting her hand back in his hair. “I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to...” 

“It's okay, Sab,” he said quietly. “It's okay if you like things like that. Nothing wrong with you if you do.” 

She frowned. “You're not reading my mind are you?”

“No. I'm just good at reading people,” he said, voice genuine and quiet. 

“Okay,” she said, nodding.

He sat up, leaning forward and kissing her on the lips, the kissing was slow, little smacks filling the room, with the sounds of Kyle Reese and Sarah Conner talking while trapped in a parking lot. Soon they started making out, little shocks moving through her body as he pressed between her legs and her thighs pressing against his sides. His lips trailed down her chin and neck, she craned to the side, closing her eyes. Is this what it's like to be in love? 

Her hands found his hair and she pulled gently, which gained a soft sound of approval from him. Breath ghosting against her neck, she swallowed, making him pause. “Is this okay?,” he asked, looking up with eyes that were blown. The green of them were like thin ring of a lifesaver. 

She nodded, speaking a little breathlessly. “Yeah.”

“Just tell me when to stop,” he murmured, as he continued dropping kisses across her neck, jaw and chin. 

She closed her eyes as it went on until her hands pulled a little too hard and he groaned, placing his lips back on hers. Their tongues fought over each other, until he won and lead. Rolling together like snakes in a tango. It went on like that for a long time, then it became too much. She started panicking, feeling trapped. “Okay,” she said, as he chased her mouth. “Stop.” 

He stopped, eyes lidded as he nodded, kissing the corner of her mouth and rolling off to the side so he was behind her. His arm went around her waist, and his chin rested against the top of her head as they watched the movie instead. 

She felt bad, but she couldn't take it going any further. 

At least not right now.

Xxxxxx

He blinked awake. Eyes blurry until they adjusted to the dark room, they landed on the dvd screen saver and he realized he was holding Sabrina. They must have fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of Terminator 2 or he did at least. He smiled to himself, kissing the top of her curly head. His body hurt and he knew her's had to hurt too, the couch had never been comfortable unless he was high. He gently shook her, as she mumbled in her sleep. “Hey. Wake up.”

She mumbled again, as he shook her some more. “Mm?”

“I wake up, Sab,” he said, loud enough to wake her. “Let's move to the bed.”

She groaned, sitting up slowly. “Fuck, your couch is evil.”

“I would have told you that but I didn't expect us to sleep on it,” he told her, as he sat up too. 

She stretched, slowly. “Are you sure you want me in the same bed? That's a lot of touching.”

He thought for a moment. Was he? It wouldn't be that bad. He's slept in the same bed with people before but this time, it was different. “I'm sure.”

She stood up. “Okay, I'm gonna get ready for bed.”

He went about stripping down to his boxer briefs, feeling free. He stood in the doorway to the bathroom as she brushed her teeth in her purple colored, white flowered night shirt that dropped mid thigh. His mouth went a little dry. Was she wearing underwear underneath there? More than likely, but he could dream that she wasn't. He crossed his arms. “I never imagined you dressing in something feminine.”

She turned to look at him with the toothbrush in her mouth, before taking it out and spitting in the sink. “I'm kinda weird like that. Part of me wants to dress in pretty clothes but I don't want to attract attention. So, I make due with bedtime.” 

He frowned sleepily. Neither of them should have to feel like that. That they shouldn't attract attention so dress drably, in dark clothes and fade into the background. Maybe, they needed to encourage each other to do things differently. Maybe, Krista is right. What do you think? Should he really give this a chance? Let her all the way in and just try...? 

“Elliot?” Her voice breaks through the haze of thoughts, talking to you. He knows he's been neglecting you in favor of interacting with a real live person but he can't help himself. He's grown to love her. 

“Sorry, zoned out,” he admitted, looking up. He smells mint. 

She nodded, a small smile on her lips. “I'm done. Your turn,” she said, pushing moving out of the way so he could walk inside the tiny bathroom. 

She stares at him a long moment, color rising to her cheeks and it makes him smile a little as he adds toothpaste to his toothbrush. “You can go get in bed.”

“Right,” she said, turning around and walking away.

Ten minutes later, he walked into his bedroom, where she was underneath the covers, laying on her side. He slid in behind her, wrapping an arm round her waist and staring down. “It's okay to look.”

She sighed. “Elliot. Stop embarrassing me, you dork.”

He huffed. “I looked at you too.” 

Her midsection tightens. He wonders what that's about. “Perv.”

His fingers find their way underneath her nightgown and she doesn't tell him stop as his hand lands on her stomach, that concaves underneath the touch. She doesn't tell him stop, but he doesn't plan on going any further than a light touch anyway. His fingers lazily dance against her caramel skin and he closes his eyes. 

It's nice being able to touch and not feel ill. It's what he's wanted for a long time. 

“Elliot?,” she whispered, hand moving to his underneath the night shirt.

“Mm?,” he questioned sleepily, eyes closed. 

“... I love you,” she whispered again, voice sounding nervous.

Do you think he should say the same? Because he feels it. He does. He knows it. He loved Shayla. He loves Angela but like those loves, this one is different too. Shayla was a love based on an awkward connection that formed into a friendship based on loneliness, but it was real and true. Angela is his first love, a friendship based on grief but a beautiful one, one that remains and will probably always remain. She'll always have a piece of his heart. With Sabrina, it's the sameness. The difference. Something thriving, something real. 

His eyes are half lidded as his hand stills on her stomach, instead coming to rest ontop of her hand, squeezing. “I love you too.” 

He wonders if her heart stills in this moment, because she shakes for just a second. Trembling and then she brings his hand up to her mouth, kissing his knuckles. “Goodnight and gooddreams.”

“You too,” he said, closing his eyes once more. His hand coming to rest flat against her stomach. Maybe he would have gooddreams about being the same with differences. About having something other than wrongness in his life.

Mr. Robot sits at his desk, staring at the two of them but Elliot ignores, in favor of staying in this moment and falling into a peaceful slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

She wakes up to the sound of yelling, she opens her eyes and sees Elliot pacing back and forth in the open living room, in his briefs no less. She watches as veins pop out in his neck and her usual docile companion looks beyond pissed off. 

“I said. I don't need you anymore! What aren't you understanding!?,” he shouts, throwing his hands in the air. 

She frowns, staying quiet for a few more seconds.

“You won't tell me where Tyrell Is, so you're no use to me,” he said, sounding defeated.

Tyrell? As in Tyrell Wellick? That guy was missing currently. Was Elliot just paranoid about that? Or did he actually know the man?

“Elliot?,” she asks, voice like gravel. “You okay?”

He stops, looking over at her. He looks like he's been crying, his eyes are wild and he takes a deep breath. Walking over and dropping beside her on the bed. “Nothing is ever okay.” 

“I won't lie to you and say it's... well, something will always go wrong but that's a part of life,” She said quietly, getting on her knees and wrapping her arms around his head as she brought the side of his head to her chest. He let out a quiet sob. “What's bothering you?”

He pulls back and looks up. “... I'm the reason Ecorp is in a shithole right now and I think I killed Tyrell Wellick.” 

She blinked, trying to process this information. “Are you sure you're not having a some paranoid delusion?”

“No, I'm positive about Ecorp but I'm not sure about Tyrell,” he admitted, sounding too genuine to her ears.

All sorts of thoughts ran through her head. “Start from the beginning.”

He told her everything. 

“So.. Mr. Robot took down Ecorp. Tyrell was with you the night it went down and now you don't know if you actually killed a man or not, because it was Mr. Robot at the time,” she recalled.

“Yeah,” he answered, head in his hands.

She reached over and ran her fingers over the nearly naked sides of his scalp, until her fingers found their way into his hair. “It's going to be okay. We'll figure this out.”

“I can't drag you into this,” he said, shaking his head.

“It's fine. I'll figure out some way to help, even if it's just by being here,” she said quietly as he leaned against her. “... Have you ever hacked me?”

“No,” he replied, quickly. “I haven't touched a computer in two months. We started talking six weeks ago.”   
She nodded. “Good.” Then she kissed his forehead. “Why don't we take turns showering? Then we can go get breakfast at the cafe.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” he nodded, standing up as he started walking toward the bathroom, taking off his briefs as he went and giving her a good view of his ass in the process.

She blushed, looking away and decided to lay back down until he was done. 

Xxxxxxxxx

“Where the hell have you been?,” Darlene shot off, standing in the doorway of his apartment. She walked past him, and looked around. “Where's your computer?”

“I've decided to stop for awhile,” he told her. 

“Elliot. Not now, not when you're needed most,” she said, frowning. 

“I can't, Darlene. I have to get my head on straight first and we can't pull anymore shit like what we just did,” he said, shaking his head.

She sighed, giving him a long look that turned into a semi stare down until he looked away. “Fine,” she answered. “Everyone, plus Angela and me have been worried about you. You don't answer your calls or texts, What have you been doing exactly?”

“Reading down at this cafe and working,” He said, shrugging one armed. 

She blinked. “So, instead of continuing our revolution. You decided to be a jackass and start doing normal things?”

“Something like that,” he said, nodding jerkily. 

“You find yourself a girlfriend too?,” she joked. 

Can she hear him?

“Something like that,” he answered again.

She blinks, then grins. “Can I meet her?”

“Not yet,” He said, shaking his head. “As soon as she's comfortable. You will.”

“You will be held accountable for that promise,” she said, ruffling his hair as she walked past, moving to his dvds. “You got Children of the corn? We have to watch.”

He felt a small smile tugging at his lips. “Sure.”

He put the movie in, they smoked a bowl and then his cell buzzed. Opening up his phone, he saw a text from Sabrina. 

**Sab:** Please come. Now. Please.

**Elliot:** What's wrong?

**Sab:** Please just come. It's important.

**Elliot:** The cafe?

**Sabrina:** My house.

He frowned, a little too high for his liking when shit was dire. He looked over at Darlene. “Hey, I gotta run.”

She looked up. “Why?”

“My … girlfriend just texted. She needs to see me,” he admitted, standing up as he grabbed one of his hoodies off the hanging wall rack and pulled it over his head. 

“Okay, take your key. I'll lock up and leave if you aren't back in a few hours or you know, you could text me that you won't be coming back,” she said, smirking.

“I will,” he said, grabbing his key, his wallet and putting both in his pockets as he walked out the door.

Forty five minutes later, he was standing in front of Sabrina's door, ringing the doorbell. The door flew open and he walked inside hurriedly. “What's wrong?”

She hiccuped. Swallowing hard. “My mom isn't here. I've been out of my meds for three days and I'm freaking out. I want to die but I don't want to die. They won't shut up, everything is all jumbled and fucked up in my head.”

That's why he hasn't seen her at the cafe or talked to her since the other night. He suddenly feels bad. “Why don't you have your meds?”

“Because I'm too afraid to be out in public right now. Everytime I even think of stepping out the door, I panic,” she admitted, eyes wet and wild. 

He had a solution. “I'll go get your medications but you'll have to call and give them permission.” 

“I was hoping you would,” she said, rubbing at her eyes. “Thank you so much.” 

She disappears in the house and ten minutes later she's back. “Here's my e-coin card. Thank you, Elliot. I love you, thank you,” she said, standing on her tippy toes and kissing him on his lips. She then told him where the pharmacy was.

He nodded. “I'll be right back.”

It took him twenty five minutes or so to find it, he went in quickly and got out. Then found a coffee shop, where he picked her up a Vanilla Cappuccino and himself a Mocha Frappe. On his way back, his brain worried insistently that she would be dead by the time he got back. He couldn't let that happen. 

“What would be so bad about her dying, Elliot?,” Mr. Robot said, following hot on his heels. “She'd be one less worry off your mind. Neither of you can change each other, that's a crock of shit and you know it.”

Elliot ignored him, in favor of picking up his pace. 

“She's going to hurt you, kiddo. You won't accept facts,” Mr. Robot said in his ear.

“You don't know her like I do,” Elliot said, adamantly.

“You've known her six weeks. Do you really know her? She could be into animal porn,” Mr. Robot retorted.

Elliot fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I doubt she's that kind of person.”

“Run back to her, Elliot. Run but I doubt you'll get away from her if you keep running to her, it'll spiral and turn shitty in the end,” Mr. Robot said as he finally disappeared when he reached the house.

Was he right? Would it have an end? Everything had an end.

No, he wouldn't believe him this time. Sabrina was good for him. He was good for her. The end for them could only be good. 

He tried the door and managed to get in. He could hear crying from inside the house and he followed it into her bedroom. She was on the bed, knees drawn to her chest, rocking back and forth. Was this what it was like when someone couldn't handle their mental illness? Because he was at least somewhat functioning without the medication. She didn't seem like she could handle it at all. 

He sat next to her on the bed, and opened the heavy bag of meds. Putting both cups of coffee on the night stand. “You've got to take these.” 

She looked up, sniffling. “Thank you so much.”

“Stop thanking me. I care about you, you don't need to keep doing that,” he reassured. 

“I'm so stupid, I'm sor-,” she started but he cut her off.

“You're not stupid either,” he said, leaning forward and wiping off her cheeks. She nodded and he started opening up pill bottles, there were at least eight. How the fuck could someone be on so much medicine? 

He followed the instructions and put the pills in her hand, then his frappe. “Come on.” 

She was slow and precise as she took each pill. Taking only the amount of liquid she needed for each pill. She had this down to a science. By the end, his frappe wasn't even dented. She was still breathing erratically. “Calm down,” he whispered, kissing her forehead as he took her face in his hands. 

She took a deep breath, then suddenly she was attacking his lips. Not giving him a chance to kiss back, when she pulled back. “Help me calm down.”

He blinked, staring at her for a long moment. “Are you sure?,” he asked quietly. 

“Yeah, definitely. Please,” she pleaded, slowly pulling her green, cat filled night shirt over her head, revealing her only in green boy cut panties. Her small, perfect breasts, sitting there. Mouthfuls. 

He inhaled a little sharply. “I don't think you're in the right frame of mind, Sab.”

“No, I've been thinking about it. I want you, El,” she said leaning forward to kiss him again, as she pulled up his hand and placed it one of her breasts. 

He found himself squeezing gently, rubbing a thumb over her nipple and kissing back softly. He stopped for a moment, to pull off his shirt and hoodie. Then stood to remove everything else. “Do you have anything?”

She looked thoughtful, but pained, like she was trying to think over the voices. “In my mom's bedroom drawer, there should be a box. I don't think she'd mind if I took a couple.” 

What if they needed the whole box? 

He was getting a ahead of himself. “Brb.”

“... Elliot. Did you seriously just say brb out loud?,” she asked, looking amused.

He paused, almost out the door. “Yeah, I did.”

She snorted. “Go get the condoms, internet junkie.” 

He smiled then walked out, returning a few minutes later with three condoms. Just incase. 

He crawled between her legs, his hard manhood pressing against her folds. He kissed thoroughly, kissing down her neck, between her breasts, from breast to breast and down her stomach. He thought of going down on her, but they had time for that later. Right now, he wanted to connect. He slid back up, kissing her again, their tongues tangling as a finger slipped into her tightness. She moaned into his mouth, squeezing her eyes shut and the sound went straight to his cock. 

Adding a second finger, he started pumping them in and out. Then a third, trying to stretch her. He wondered if she was a virgin, he'd ask but it'd ruin the moment. It could bring up bad feelings and he wanted her to feel good about herself, not bad. Not even a little bit. She kept moaning, writhing underneath his hand and he continued kissing her, swallowing her moans whole. 

Finally he withdrew them, pulled back, rock hard. She was panting, staring up at him, glassy eyed. They stared at each other for a few seconds, caught in a moment and then she nodded, a permission. He tore open a condom packet, sliding it on easily and then positioned himself between her legs. He guided himself t her entrance and sucked in his stomach, so he went in smoothly. Her eyes screwed shut and she let out a gasp. “Fuck!”

He stilled, face concerned. “Everything okay?”

“Just... nothing, just be gentle at first, then you can go hard all you want,” she said, breathlessly with a laugh. 

He did as he was told, kissing at the side of her neck he pulled out slowly and slid back in just as slowly, allowing her to adjust. Her legs tightened around his waist as she let out little groans and gasps, trying to meet his thrusts. 

“Harder,” she mumbled, arms wrapped around his shoulders. He was trapped, and somehow, he didn't mind. 

He did as requested, experimentally pulled out and slammed back in, making him groan and her gasp sharply. “That good?”

She nodded frantically. “Yeah, it's all good. Harder.”

He pulled out and slammed back in even harder. Then he started a pace, that wasn't brutal but not gentle either. The sounds of flesh smacking against each other hit the air, and she kept crying out, singing his name, which just made him work harder for it. As he was reaching his climax, he reached down between her folds, found her clit and started rubbing insistently. She began writhing then cried out as her body shook and her eyes shut hard. 

She was breathing heavily as his own climax reached him a few minutes later, he swallowed hard, feeling sticky, dirty and sweaty. His eyes still saw white but he managed to pull out and fall to her side. Once his eyes adjusted, he managed to see her in the light of the room, reaching over to push a sweaty curl that had clung to her cheek, behind her ear. He sat up on his elbow, then leaned down to kiss her on the mouth. He watched as her chest heaved, then she looked up at him, love shining in her eyes. 

He knew for just a moment, what had been bothering her was gone, just for now. And for just a moment for him, it was the same. He doesn't need to say I love you, because it's in his eyes too.

He's shown her nothing is whole. She's shown him nothing is broken. 

Where fears and lies drift away, there's a new land. 

Where Angels dare to stay.


End file.
